‘Goes up into the chicken coop – looks like a stilt above ground. All the dogs smell is chicken shit.’

‘This is unreal, mate. Absolutely unreal. You set this up?’

‘Dad buried the container. Had it brought in during New Year’s Eve, when the parties were all going on and no one heard the sound of the truck or the excavator. Butch and me have made some improvements since.’

‘I can’t believe Doble hasn’t found this. He’d be spewing if he knew, the fat fuck. Doesn’t the power show up on your bill?’

‘Siphon it from an old mate down the road – we’ve got a line buried under the fence. He had a deal with Dad.’ Murphy shrugged. ‘You’ve got your list?’

‘You know, I bet this is where you were the other night.’

‘What?’

‘Well, you weren’t in your bed. I came inside to find food, dropped by your room to see how you were doing, but you weren’t there. I looked all through the house – had me a bit worried, mate – but I guess you were here. You aren’t hiding one of them girls down here, are you?’ Skinner chuckled.

Murphy, his hand behind his back, holding the grip of the Glock, paused. ‘I couldn’t have been in here,’ he said, ‘there’s only one key and it was hanging up in the shed just then.’

‘Ah, don’t worry about it, mate. Angel dust is some crazy shit. You could burn your own house down and have no memory of it.’ Skinner looked at him quizzically. ‘What are you doing back there?’

Murphy squeezed the grip of the gun.

This was it.

What was he willing to do?

How far was he willing to go?

Skinner is still a mate, I can’t threaten him with a gun . . . can I? What else can I do?

He let go of the gun, his hand swinging back to his side.

‘I really need to see that list.’

‘I told you, I can’t. Unless you can prove it was one of my clients who took your girl, I can’t.’

Murphy hesitated, then slowly kneeled. ‘Mate . . . my daughter . . . I’ve got to try. I’m begging you.’

In this world, the Murphys’ reputation was one of the most important things they possessed. That’s why they put THE CAPTAIN on their product: they were in charge. They didn’t have many weapons in their arsenal – threats and intimidation could be the difference between them being players and losing everything.

And now here he was, kneeling on the ground like a grub.

He could get bashed for less. He could get rolled for less.

‘Get off the ground, Murph,’ said Skinner uneasily.

Murphy put his forehead on the old stained carpet that covered the floor. ‘I’ll do anything. Anything.’ His throat felt tight. Tears broke through. ‘Just name it.’